


Even Immortals Need Help Sometimes

by LadyonaBuffalo, SurelyMeretricious



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural, The Originals (TV), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alpha Males, Alternate Universe - Crack, Crossover, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Drama, Hybrids, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Missing Persons, Original Family, POV Alternating, Post Reichenbach, Vampires, Work In Progress, World Travel, multi-fandom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyonaBuffalo/pseuds/LadyonaBuffalo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SurelyMeretricious/pseuds/SurelyMeretricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaus Mikaelson's fiancee is missing and he enlists the help of the world's only consulting detective to find her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Meeting of the Minds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyonabuffalo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ladyonabuffalo).



> This is a present for ladyonabuffalo... We will continue the story together much to our own amusement. We hope you enjoy! We hope you get all the fandom references.... ;)

    The doorbell buzzed loudly. Maximum pressure. One ring.

    A client.

    John looked up from his tea. It had only been a few days since Sherlock had returned. The shiner that John had LOVINGLY given him still shadowed his eye, though it had mostly healed by this point. It still felt so strange to John to be back at 221B. Stranger, in a way, because it felt more like he had never left.

    Mrs. Hudson must have answered the door, because less than a minute after the sound there was a slightly disheveled blond man standing in their open doorway. He was young, attractive, and had a wild, piercing stare. Not even bothering with formalities, the man rushed into the room with lengthy strides. John jumped up from his chair, quickly motioning for the man to sit. Ignoring him, the man looked straight at John’s consulting detective.

    "Mr. Holmes, I need your assistance”, he began, with no preamble.

    "Make it interesting”, Holmes replied with his usual cold disdain for mere mortals.

    John, sensing this would take a while, decided to make himself useful and make a cuppa to try and calm this man’s nerves. John shuffled only slightly on his way into the kitchen. He was again getting over a psycho-somatic limp. His first had been because of the tragedies of war, this one was because of every long and painful day he desolately spent thinking Sherlock was dead.

    As he moved about, John strained his ears to listen in. His curiosity was getting the better of him, as usual.

    "My fiancee is missing, Mr. Holmes. I need to find her. She may be in grave danger.”

    "Did you check the pool boy’s lodgings?” Sherlock quipped. John rolled his eyes. Leave it to Sherlock to say something insensitive like that. Any chance to mock someone for his own amusement. What a dick.

    "You don’t seem to grasp my meaning”, the stranger virtually growled. ”There are forces here at work. Forces beyond even your understanding.”

    Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. John came back into the room. He held out the mug but the man ignored him still. John cleared his throat, still holding out the steaming cup. He was getting irritated for some reason. Maybe it was the way this guy had automatically written him off as not important whatsoever. No, that couldn’t really be it. Loads of people did that and it had never really bothered him before. Maybe, John dreaded to consider, it was the way Sherlock was looking at this interloper. He had barely said anything they hadn’t heard before and countless times, but Sherlock was completely immersed in the conversation. What made this man so different? When the stranger dismissively waved the tea away, John lost it and grumbled audibly before just sitting on the sofa and sipping it himself.

    "You know my name, but I don’t yet have the pleasure of knowing yours”, Sherlock purred, reaching out a long-fingered hand. John definitely noticed this peculiarity. What was Holmes playing at?

    The man purposefully took his outstretched hand with a firm grip and said, “Niklaus Mikaelson.”

    Sherlock tilted his head at the contact. He had noticed something that John obviously hadn’t. The two young men stared each other down, neither one wanting to submit to the other. This type of game should have baffled John, but if he was being truthful he had done the same type of thing far too often with Mycroft, Sherlock’s older brother.

    "So-", John interrupted, breaking the awkward silence. Both men released the other’s clutch at the same time and Niklaus finally took a seat across the desk from Sherlock, who was now leaning back in his chair, looking slightly perplexed, but pensive.

    Niklaus glanced at John, at last acknowledging his existence. ”I am part of a dark world. One that would haunt your dreams and make you question everything you have ever known. It is not one for the faint-hearted.”

    John couldn’t help but give his trademark smirk. Who did this guy think he was? Dracula? He chuckled to himself, masking it by sipping more tea. Apparently John didn’t do a good job of hiding his insolence, because Niklaus fixed him with a piercing stare that made him feel uncomfortable to the point of violation.

    Sherlock, still deep in thought, missed this entire interaction. ”Do you mock me?” Niklaus asked menacingly. John grew defensive immediately. He had dealt with numerous scary, bloodcurdling guys in his life, but this one was different. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it yet, but this guy just oozed a nebulous sort of dark coercion he had never seen before.

    Sherlock snapped out of his reverie, garnering Niklaus’s attention again. ”What are you?” Sherlock asked. John’s jaw dropped.

    "So you are as good as they say you are. Excellent. I require your assistance in this matter. If you are successful, and I suggest you BE successful, I will make sure that you are handsomely rewarded. If you are not prompt enough, or if you should fail me, I will rip your little boyfriend’s heart out while you watch before shoving it down your throat until you gag.”

    "For God’s sake, I’m not his—” John stammered. He never finished his standard protest as both men fixed him with a gaze that just said, “You’re not fooling me”.

    "Let me start at the beginning”, Niklaus said. Sherlock nodded for him to continue. ”I live in Mystic Falls. The town is home to a very interesting crowd.”

    "Interesting?” John couldn’t help but repeat. He hated it when people were ambiguous.

    "This information cannot leave this room. And I mean that. Most ardently.” He waited for both Sherlock and John to nod their agreement to his terms. When they had, he continued. ”Where I live there are vampires, werewolves, doppelgangers, witches, and even hybrids.”

    "Ooookay, I think you need to leave now”, John laughed derisively as he got to his feet again. He had heard enough. This guy was obviously crazier than Mycroft when he saw cake.

    "John.” Sherlock snapped. It was more than just chastisement. It was a harsh warning.

    "No, Sherlock. How can you possibly take him seriously? Vampires? Werewolves? What’s next? Frankenstein’s monster? Angels who wear trench coats and watch porn? I mean, come on, that’s just absurd.”

    Niklaus leapt to his feet and was on John before he could even blink. One moment the man was across the room, and the next he had John pinned to the wall with one hand pushing on John’s chest and his other arm perpendicularly against the army doctor’s throat, cutting off his air. At this, Sherlock also jumped to his feet, though he made no move towards them. He held up his hands as if in surrender.

     "Please, just let him go”, Sherlock pleaded, his eyes wide with desperation.

    Niklaus peeked at Sherlock over his shoulder. He seemed to be making up his mind about whether or not to kill John. He sensed that killing John would make getting Sherlock to help him more difficult, so he loosened his grip. John choked a bit as air filled his lungs again. Niklaus met John’s gaze and held it, leaning in close. ”Listen to me. You will go back into the kitchen, make yourself another cup of tea, then go to your room. You will not remove yourself from that location until your detective comes to get you. Then you will forget everything about this little… altercation. Is that clear?” John, who now had a glazed look in his eyes, nodded mutely before doing exactly as he had been told.

    Sherlock stared, incredulous. ”What did you do to him?”

    "Merely compelled him a little. He’ll be fine.”

     Sherlock didn’t seem to believe him, but John did appear to be safe for the moment, so he sat back down. Niklaus crossed the room again to stand in front of Sherlock. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. It was instantly obvious to Sherlock that the paper was of a more expensive quality. It was mainly used by artists for pencil sketching. This one had been folded and unfolded numerous times. It was undoubtedly something the man had drawn himself. Since then he had been fretting over the piece.

    Before he even looked at it, Sherlock said, “Your fiancee.”

    Niklaus nodded as he hesitantly held out the sheet of paper. He seemed reluctant to part with it. Sherlock held it carefully. It was a very life-like drawing of a young woman. Sherlock could tell that this image of her laughing had been drawn with painstaking care and detail.

    "Well, she is certainly appealing. I can see why you would want to get her back as soon as possible.”

    "She is MINE!” Niklaus hissed. Hell-fire burned in his azure eyes. ”I believe my brother Kol may have her, but I don’t know where in the world he would have taken her. You MUST help me find her.” His breaths came heavier with the stress. He was practically panting.

    "When can we leave?” Sherlock inquired.

    "Retrieve your cretinous doctor from your bedroom and we will leave immediately. I hired a pilot by the name of Martin Crieff to fly us back to the States.”

    Sherlock went to his bedroom to get John. He seemed almost like he had been drugged. Sherlock checked him out to make sure that he was really okay before explaining that they would need their passports. They packed swiftly. Sherlock donned his coat and they all left the flat together.

    "Going out, Mrs. Hudson. We won’t need dinner tonight”, he called to their not-housekeeper.

    They stood on Baker Street and Sherlock hailed a cab. As it pulled up, he turned to the man who was more than a man and said, “So, you never told me her name.”

    Niklaus stared off into the London fog in deep contemplation. He whispered her name as if it were a prayer, “Katya.”


	2. Things I Almost Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katya wakes up suddenly. She's alone and in completely unfamiliar surroundings. Who's responsible? Friend or foe? Will Klaus be able to track her down, even with Sherlock's help?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a brief interim chapter -- we jump scenes to introduce OC Katya, Niklaus's betrothed. I am collaborating with Surelymeretricious on this completely crazy crack story -- hope you enjoy it!!

     Katya woke with a start.  She dreamed someone was calling her name, though it was foggy and fading fast.  Black spots speckled the earthy tones overhead.  Katya struggled to sit up, but her strength seemed to have failed her.  She put her head back down, trying to rub the flecks of dust from her eyes.  She opened them again, and remaining on her back, focused her senses. Worn copper clay covered her entire view.  It looked as if the ceiling was made of jagged rocks, and the ground felt firm and grainy beneath her. 

_What is this place_? Crawling onto her knees, Katya stared around her.  It was very dark.  The walls surrounding her looked similar to the roof overhead.  Only a very dim light shone from a far off corner.  Katya fought to clear her head and comprehend what she was seeing.  She felt slightly intoxicated, and a wave of exhaustion crashed over her, though it felt as if she’d been sleeping for days.  

    Katya grabbed onto a serrated rock edge and climbed shakily to her feet.  She sluggishly flanked towards the daylight, hoping that sunshine and fresh air would offer clarity to her muddled brain. She shuddered.  The air, cool and musty, felt damp against her face.  Her skin felt grimy, as though she hadn’t showered in days, and her throat was parched.  She needed water.  Katya began trudging more quickly, suddenly very concerned with getting out of the dark pit surrounding her.  It was very disconcerting that she couldn’t remember what she was doing in this place.  Or how she even got there to begin with.

     She relaxed a bit as the hollowed earth became brighter.  Sunbeams streamed in as the exit to the dreary cavern was now visible. Katya glanced down and let out an audible gasp of shock.

    Fear clutched her chest.  Her white and cerulean sundress was filthy.  A large, dried, bloodstain covering her right shoulder strap had oozed down the front of her once pretty outfit.  The sudden distinctive sting of punctured skin grabbed her attention.  A large cut marred her leg, blood trickling from the fresh wound. 

    “Ow!!” she cried aloud and reached down to apply pressure to her torn flesh.  When had this occurred?  Nothing was making any sense to her.  A scraping noise from behind caused Katya to jump in alarm and gaze back into the dark hole.

    “Is someone there?”  Katya called out uncertainly, trying to keep her voice steady.  It dawned on her she didn’t even have her cell phone.  Forgetting her leg, she turned and sprinted straight toward the exit.  Stumbling outside on loose gravel and wincing as she shielded her eyes from the direct sunlight, Katya drew in her breath sharply as she took in the scenery around her.

    A vast mountain range extended as far as she could see, fading off into the horizon.  She could make out white capped peaks on top of the purplish-blue haze they took in the distance.   Surrounding her on every side, were large rocky cliffs and the fresh scent of pine and spruce filled her nose.  She was standing on a hiking path of a very high mountain, appearing to be still quite far from the peak, but elevated enough to see that she was nowhere near the bottom or civilization. As a matter of fact, she didn’t see a single shard of evidence that any other human being was around.

    Katya felt a cold chill course through her, despite the sun beating down and warming her clammy skin.  The reality of her situation was sinking in now that she was able to think more rationally.  She unquestionably was not in Mystic Falls.  And Katya was equally certain she was no longer in Virginia.  The Appalachian Mountains were simply not this immense. 

    “What the hell is going on?” Katya demanded, though no one was around to hear. She had no recollection of beginning a trip or even having one planned.  Last she recalled, she had been painting an olive green hue to the living room walls of her soon to be new home.  _I would never have wandered off or taken a trip into the wilderness by myself!  Not without at least, telling Nik?  And I don’t leave home without my cell phone!_

    Katya, trying not to panic, quickly evaluated her options. First priority -- running spring of water! Abruptly, she felt a soft breeze that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.  Regarding the rocky path beneath her, a taller, huskier shadow was now standing next to her own.

    She was no longer alone. 


	3. Dancing Bears, Painted Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus, Sherlock, and John arrive in America where they receive a less-than-warm welcome from the Mystic locals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay... we have been having too much fun laughing while plotting this out!  
> Hope you enjoy the ride!  
> -SM

    Sherlock and Klaus sat together on the plane, which upset John for childish reasons. It was a relatively small jet but felt awkwardly large, as the other 13 seats were all empty. John sat across the aisle from the other two and watched them confer with piqued interest. They were quiet, which frustrated John, but he didn't want to admit that he was interested by moving any closer. Klaus glared in his direction momentarily and John looked away. He knew he didn't trust Klaus, but it was as if he couldn't remember _why_.

    Looking around the plane, John wondered where the hell this guy had found this "MJN Air". John couldn't believe they were an actual company. He had looked them up on Sherlock's mobile during the cab ride and had not at all been comforted by the fact that their website had dancing planes all over it and looked like it had been designed by a five-year-old.

    Martin, their "pilot", if one could call him that, had been a bumbling mess of nervous energy. He would shout defensively anytime the lax co-pilot said anything to him. It was actually kind of hilarious. John found he didn't mind the co-pilot, an older man called Douglas, but he made sure to double-check his pockets when they finished their introductions. Something about the man had seemed, _skeevy_ , in the non-threatening kind of way. And that left--

    "Hello gents! Thank you for flying MJ and N. If you would be so kind as to stow all luggage and excess belongings and dis-disengage your seatbelt so we can re-embark into the sky post-haste momentarily."

    Klaus, Sherlock, and John all stared in confused disbelief at the tall and round-faced man in the aisle in front of them. The man, who had overzealously introduced himself as Arthur Shappey earlier, had an impossibly wide grin that somehow further widened his already broad face.

    Sherlock frowned deeply and John swore that he heard Klaus growl under his breath. Arthur, oblivious to the impatient animosity violently wafting in his direction, opened his mouth to continue speaking. Luckily, for everyone's sake, the cabin address interrupted.

    They heard Martin's shaky attempts at calm professionalism as he announced, "Good day, gentlemen. This is your captain speaking. We will be taking off very soon to take you to America. If you need anything at all during your flight please let our cabin crew know. Well, crew member. Well, Arthur. Just tell Arthur."

    "BRILLIANT, THAT'S ME!" shouted Arthur ecstatically. "Right," he continued, "Let me know if I can be of assistance to assist you in any way."

    Moving so fast that John and Sherlock missed it completely, Klaus was in the aisle and holding Arthur firmly by the shoulders, staring deeply into his eyes. Arthur's face relaxed and his eyes looked vacant as Klaus commanded him. "You are going to sit down next to John, there, and never speak to me again. You are not going to do anything except get John and Sherlock whatever they need. You are going to make no more silly announcements for this flight. Do you understand?"

    Arthur nodded slowly as a dumb grin spread over his face again. "I'm not an idiot." With a scoff he shrugged Klaus off and found his seat next to John's.

    Arthur leaned conspiratorially closer to John and whispered, "That chap must have his knickers in a twist. That's what my mum would say." Before John could respond, Arthur's volume crescendoed and he was suddenly shouting, "Do you think we will see any polar bears? It's just that I love bears and I want to see them dancing. Could you imagine?"

    John shrugged in disbelief, wondering how it was that the daft man remembered to breathe on a daily basis.

    The rest of the journey passed without much incident, meaning that no one died. Other than that it was a nightmare. John had been forced to endure Arthur's company while Sherlock and Klaus conferred or sat in relative silence. It seemed that neither of them were much for small talk.

    John had never been so glad to touch land again as he was when they landed. All he wanted was to be off of the plane and away from anything and anyone connected with MJN Air. His wish was granted shortly as they disembarked and started the journey through the airport. John practically tripped over his own feet trying to involve himself in the conversation of the other two men.

    "It won't be long now," Klaus was saying, as John caught up.

    "Careful, Klaus," Sherlock warned under his breath. John looked around, attempting to suss out any threat to himself or Sherlock.

    "I am an Original," Klaus sighed with exasperation. "As if anything could kill me."

    "Nevertheless," Sherlock continued, unperturbed, "There are two men over there, brothers by the looks of them, who are hunters. We don't need them catching your scent and adding difficulties to this case unnecessarily."

    John and Klaus followed his line of sight to the two tall men Sherlock was referring to. The leather jacket-clad one seemed to be shouting abuse at the taller of the two, who responded by rolling his eyes and shrugging his shoulders.

    Klaus had the best hearing out of the three of them, so he related that the shorter one was yelling something about flying and someone named Cas. "They seem to have enough going on right now, they aren't even paying attention to us."

    Klaus started leading them away, so John took the opportunity to hiss at Sherlock, "Seriously, Sherlock? How do you know about hunters, or whatever?"

    "Shhh," Sherlock admonished under his breath before leaning in close and whispering in John's ear. "You forget that my brother picks stupid passwords for his laptop. As he is close with the Prime Minister, he tracks certain...things. I know about subjects that you couldn't even dream of, John."

    At that, John merely shook his head and tried to move forward. He figured that, if they both survived this crazy mission, there would be plenty of time to digest and go to therapy later.

    They left the building and moved to catch up with Klaus, who appeared to be bickering with a young man in a beat-up pick-up truck.

    "What is this nonsense! Next time I see her, I am going to give her a little present to show my appreciation: a STAKE through her HEART." Klaus spun on his heel and groaned audibly.

    The young man jumped out of the vehicle and began moving their luggage to the bed of the truck before stopping and holding out a hand first to John then to Sherlock.

    "John Watson. And this is my partner, Sherlock Holmes," John said, making the introductions, as Klaus seemed to be distracted by a hissy fit, a state of being John had too much experience with with Sherlock.

    "I'm Matt Donovan. Nice to meet you."

    "Small world," John remarked. "Don't suppose you would be related to our Sally."

    Matt gave him a small smile and a look that placed him squarely in the jock category. John felt like he instantly needed to protect him from Sherlock's rudeness.

    "Your sister is dead and you live all alone. You work in a bar, though you are underage in this country. You have been harboring a crush on your best friend for years and although you dated for a while it's clear that she is not really interested in you. You really should move on," Sherlock spat.

    "Too late," John mumbled to himself. "Really, Sherlock?"

    Sherlock voice was shrill as he countered, "I've been cooped up in that plane for ages!"

    "What?" Matt asked, embarassed.

    John decided to intercede before things got out of hand. "He's a detective. A bloody brilliant one. However, he is also an asshole so ignore him."

    Sherlock gaped at John but kept his mouth shut.

    Matt only shrugged his shoulders and looked at Klaus with a million questions in his eyes.

    Klaus rolled his eyes again and opened the door to get in the truck, announcing as he did so, "My impertinent sister Rebekah has taken it upon herself to offer up this instead of proper mode of transport. Gentlemen, please get in so I can hurry home to where I can properly throttle her with my... _appreciation_."

    John opened his mouth and shut it several times, wondering for the twelth time that day just how the hell he had found himself in that exact situation. Sherlock, meanwhile, only shrugged and climbed in next to Klaus. Matt took his position behind the wheel, which left...

    "And just where the hell and I to sit, hmm?" John barked.

    Sherlock rolled his eyes wildly and shouted, "Oh for God's sake, John! Just get in. You can sit in my lap."

    In a barely controlled voice, John said, "You. Have got. To be shitting me."

    Klaus smirked at John's indignation. "Come on, Doctor. It'll be fine," he blatantly teased. "Out of all of us, you are the most vertically challenged and compact, so it seems the obvious choice for you to sit on your friend's lap."

    Hybrid or not, Captain John Watson was well-prepared to thump the prat.

    Luckily, seeing the danger signs, Sherlock interjected. "It's fine, John. I can move over a bit."

    John took a few deep, steadying breaths and counted to ten before moving towards the truck. He managed to only be half awkwardly thrown across Sherlock's lap. Matt made sure everyone was covered by a safety belt before taking off and heading towards the highway.

    After a few failed attempts at conversation over the No Man's Land of Sherlock's and Klaus' sulking, Matt and John decided to give up and rode the rest of the way in uncomfortable silence.

    As they approached the small, idyllic town, John and Sherlock spotted a young dark-haired couple standing on the edge of a wooden bridge. Matt started to slow down, staring at the girl and looking enviously at the guy's hero hair, but Klaus growled under his breath, "Drive. We don't have time for the angst."

    When they stopped, John practically fell off of Sherlock's lap and onto the pavement. They had parked outside of what appeared to be a small pub called the Mystic Grille. Sherlock climbed gracefully out after John and stretched his legs. Klaus wasted no time in waiting for them. Instead he shoved Matt out roughly so he, too, could exit the vehicle.

    Grabbing their luggage, John followed Matt into what had all the makings of a small American sports bar. Klaus and Sherlock met eyes before they joined them. John grabbed a seat at the bar and tried to move their trunks as out of the way as possible. Sherlock sat next to him and ordered a vodka tonic for himself and a pint for John.

    "Do you really think that's wise?" John asked, though in all honestly he didn't mind this once.

    "I know we are on a case, John. But we have some time to kill and you need to relax a little."

    John shrugged and accepted the beer gratefully, watching Klaus in the corner on his cell.

    Suddenly, a young and attractive dark-haired man with light cerulean eyes descended upon the stool next to John in a very predatory manner. In a seductive voice that almost rivaled Sherlock's, the local man said, "You're sitting where my friend used to sit."

    "Sorry?" John asked.

    The man's piercing glare threatened to tear through John as he said carefully, "My friend used to sit in the stool you are currently sitting on. I would like for you to move."

    John stared, feeling more like an intruder than ever in this foreign land. "Sorry, mate. I didn't know."

    Turning slowly, Sherlock met the stranger's eye and stated, "Relax. My friend here is a soldier just like you were. You actually have a lot in common it would seem. A sibling with a certain...uncontrollable urge."

    John looked at Sherlock in shock. Was there nothing this man could deduce?

    Damon looked just as shocked for a moment before he composed himself. "It's true," he said. "I fought in a war. I have a brother with a bit of a...drinking problem. But how did you know that? You're not from around here."

    John decided it was time for him to step in. "My friend here is right, it would appear. We do sound very much alike. My name is John Watson."

    Without taking his eyes off of the mysterious detective, Damon said, "Damon Salvatore."

    John glanced between the two of them awkwardly before clearing his throat and continuing. "So, where did you fight? Afghanistan?"

    At this, Damon smirked. "No, it was before all that," he said. "More brother fighting brother. You?"

    "Well," John chuckled, aiming for levity. "I have a sister. Also a drinker."

    "Blood?" Damon asked.

    "Excuse me?" John sputtered, caught off-guard.

    Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "Do keep up, John. Mr. Salvatore here is a veteran of the Civil War and he and his brother are vampires."

    "Oh," was all John could manage before shrinking into himself.

    "You're still sitting in my friend's spot," Damon warned John. Turning his attention to Sherlock he added with derision, "And who are you?"

    "Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective," he replied impatiently, as if the answer should have been apparent to anyone with working eyes.

    After a moment of sizing each other up they shook hands roughly across the bar and all three men went back to their drinks.

    Just then, Klaus returned to them and Damon bristled once more. Klaus was putting his phone into his jacket pocket as he sighed. "Bekah will be here shortly to take us to the last place Katya was known to be."

    Damon looked away and spoke sarcastically into his bourbon. "The Mikaelsons are having drama again. Color me shocked."

    Klaus curled his lip and spat, "You're one to talk. I can barely take a step in this town without stumbling over yet another Salvatore tragedy."

    "Boys, boys. Can we not do this here?" came a voice from behind Klaus.

    Klaus stepped aside, revealing a beautiful blonde woman with a sexual pout. John Watson found himself momentarily wishing he were ten years younger. Little did he know that he was off by about a thousand years and in the other direction. The only female Mikaelson child rolled her eyes at Damon and quickly glanced over Sherlock and John. Deeming them incredibly dull and ordinary (i.e. human), she crossed her arms and pursed her lips at her older and favorite brother.

    "Nik, what the hell have you done this time?" she demanded with a hint of a suppressed whine.

    Klaus feigned sheepishness while somehow exuding dominance when he answered her, "Katya is gone, as I'm sure you are aware. You always did have to be in the middle of all the gossip. So I have traveled to London and back to retrieve the best man on the planet to assist me in locating her."

    Rebekah lowered her voice and moved closer to him. "Yes, I am aware that she is gone. I assumed she finally realized that you are, in fact, a complete raging lunatic and ran. And for your information this gossip was relevant to me because you are my brother. Nik, you should have come to me for help. We're family." At this last part her voice broke a little, forcing Klaus to meet her gaze.

    "Well, I'm asking for your help now. Can you take us to my house?" Rebekah didn't answer straight away so Klaus held her gaze, sincerity piercing through his mask of calm.

    "Please, sister. I need to find her."

    "Very well," she conceded. "But you owe me for this."


End file.
